


I Fancy You

by AppleSharon



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Divergence, IgNoct, M/M, Older Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Romance, Slow Burn, Spoilers, a bit of promptio, final campfire AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-02-07 08:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18616765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSharon/pseuds/AppleSharon
Summary: After his return, Noctis guides Ignis through Prompto's photo album, photograph by photograph, reminiscing about their time together. Little does Ignis know that each photograph depicts the entirety of his love for Noctis. A final campfire AU of sorts. Ignoct.A few liberties are taken with canon (specific dialogue is changed a bit) but for the most part it follows all of the major plot points of Final Fantasy XV and assorted material, so spoilers for the entirety of the game.Rated M for later chapters.





	1. Prologue — Ignis Scientia

**Author's Note:**

> The premise is simple: Noctis, following his return, guides a blind Ignis through Prompto's photo album of their journey ten years ago. These will be snapshots of their relationship, sometimes accompanied by the mention of a song or two. Each chapter (barring the prologue and any special interludes) will begin by Noctis describing a photo, and then the two reliving that moment. They will not necessarily be in chronological order.
> 
> I really want to do justice to the depth of their relationship. Hopefully that comes across.

When Ignis was a teenager, it had been a thinly-disguised order. Ignis had heard it as such. To stand by the king’s son, come what may.

Ignis chuckled to himself — a dry sound that punctured the cool night air. 

Revisiting that particular memory, Ignis had been a nervous advisor not only in front of the father of his charge but the king of Lucis. At that point in time, Noctis’ obstinate nature had been his greatest adversary. 

Now, Ignis knew that it was hardly an order, but a soft plea from a father who knew that his son was bound to a terrible fate. 

Now, he wondered if his fears then weren’t prioritized the other way around all this time — fear of not only the king of Lucis, but the father of his charge. The title Regis had held meant nothing next to the love he had for his son, a son whom he had placed under Ignis’ care. 

His charge. His highness. His majesty. His friend. His.

“My everything.”

The words were lost to the crackling fire in front of him. Despite what others thought, Ignis was prone to his own, albeit fleeting, maudlin moments. This moment in particular, the day of Noctis’ return, Ignis allowed himself to slip, ever briefly, as he listened to the sounds of Gladio and Noctis laughing behind him. He rolled the stem of his half-empty wineglass between his fingers. The leather of his driving gloves squeaked against the glass. An acidic, slightly fruity scent rose up from its bowl. 

“Are you going to tell him that or what?”

Prompto’s voice cut through the air not with a harsh laugh but an optimistic chirp. His voice had a specific cadence that Ignis had grown accustomed to as a light in the darkness. Ignis turned away from the voice and Prompto’s approaching steps, noting with chagrin and a small smile that Prompto’s steps sped up, accompanied by a creaking noise that indicated the opening of a lawn chair. As he heard the slight metallic scrape of the worn chair against stone, Ignis gestured to the air next to him with a flick of his wrist. 

“By all means, Prompto, do have a seat.”

More shuffling. Ignis imagined that Prompto had turned the canvas chair around backwards, stretching his legs out on either side while hugging the chair back. A pause. In his mind, Ignis could see Prompto run his fingers through his hair. A nervous habit.

Prompto waited. 

Five minutes passed. Ignis counted them in his head, flicking his wrist to swirl the last dregs of a Lestallum red. He knew that Prompto was nearing the limits of his own patience.

Two minutes later, Ignis was rewarded with a sigh. He smiled, undetected by Prompto.

“If he comes to you, Ignis—“

Prompto’s words lacked their usual buoyant quality as well as the use of a nickname. Ignis looked up, directly towards the sound of Prompto’s voice. 

“—promise me that you’ll take him seriously. Promise me that you’ll listen.”

And with those slightly ominous words, Ignis heard Prompto stand, leaving without waiting for an affirmative. Perhaps he simply expected Ignis to listen where Noctis was concerned. A generally sound decision, Ignis mused, quirking his lips up in a half-smile, recalling the searing pain of the Ring of Lucii. Prompto’s footsteps faded. His voice joined Gladio and Noctis in a bittersweet cacophony behind Ignis. Alone again, Ignis stared in the direction of the fire, flickers of light and shadow dancing beneath his eyelids. Light, or the absence of it, were the only things that Ignis could see now outside of his mind’s eye. 

Years in the future, Ignis would say — in a way that Noctis would describe as poetic with a fond smile — that the approaching footsteps at this time signified a true departure, the advancement of a fate he would never have thought possible. 

In the moment, Ignis indulged himself in a selfish daydream, blaming it on one too many glasses of wine and the dizzying knowledge that Noctis had returned. 

“Specs, you’re smiling.”

To Ignis, he felt so rattled by Noctis’ sudden appearance at his side, that he nearly dropped his wineglass. In actuality, the movement was much smaller, a slight jerk of his forearm and a quick shudder as Ignis realized that Noctis was now in Prompto’s abandoned seat. 

Was Noctis sitting the same way as Prompto had, with an affable smile and the chairback pointed towards the fire? Or had he righted the canvas folding chair, aligning the backs side-by-side, matching silhouettes from a distance?

“Your majesty,” Ignis murmured. 

He could feel Noctis demur. A slight breeze on his face indicated that Noctis was waving his hand in protest. 

“Noct. For today. Please?” 

The prince— the king, the king he revised in his thoughts. Ignis shook his head while correcting himself in what he believed to be an imperceptible manner, yet Noctis shifting in concern told him otherwise. The king’s voice was gravelly due to disuse and maturation. Ignis nodded in Noctis’ direction and immediately felt his charge — his former charge, his king now — relax. 

“This reminds me of old times, Noct.” 

Ignis’ voice tripped over the nickname with a slightly deeper tone as if he had been the one trapped alone for ten years. Internally he cursed at the awkwardness.

Noctis simply hummed in agreement. It was a pleasant sound to Ignis’ ears, a low vibration that held a particular warmth that Ignis only associated with Noctis, even on the prince’s most apathetic days. Ten years trapped in the crystal and Noctis hadn’t lost that warmth. 

“Your cooking is even better than it was then. Better than I remembered, Specs.” 

A grin in Noctis’ words and Ignis couldn’t help but smile back. 

He heard a slight rustling beside him and turned fully in Noctis’ direction. 

“I’m folding the chair so I can be closer to the fire,” Noctis said, hearing the question in Ignis’ slight head tilt towards the noise. 

Ignis found a large book pressed into his free hand. In response, he placed his empty glass on the ground, running both of his fingers over the grooves of the cover.

“These are Prompto’s photographs.”

It was more of a question than a statement.

“I wanted to show you something,” Noctis said. 

Ignis quirked his remaining eyebrow at Noctis’ choice of words yet, almost as if he had anticipated this reaction, Noctis hummed again and placed his hands over Ignis’.

“Will you let me show you?” Noctis asked.

There were so many facets to Noctis’ voice in this question that it was impossible to recognize them all — hesitation and strength and myriad others hidden in a soft, low plea. Ignis couldn’t deny his king. 

Ignis couldn’t deny Noctis. 

He chose to affect a familiar, almost scolding tone. 

“Well, what is it then?”

Noctis hummed happily. The vibrations thrummed through his fingers. Ignis could feel them through his gloves. Noctis curled his hand around Ignis’, opening the book so it faced upward on Ignis’ lap. 

“The first photo is of you in the Regalia,” Noctis said. “We’re on the side of the road, just outside Insomnia.”

And if a certain pair had happened on the scene, staying quietly in the background while eavesdropping, they would have seen a remarkable sight: the chosen king kneeling at the side of his advisor, his smile the dawn itself.


	2. Just outside of Insomnia — Stand By Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The premise is simple: Noctis, following his return, guides a blind Ignis through Prompto's photo album of their journey ten years ago. These will be snapshots of their relationship, sometimes accompanied by the mention of a song or two. Each chapter (barring the prologue and any special interludes) will begin by Noctis describing a photo, and then the two reliving that moment. They will not necessarily be in chronological order.
> 
> I really want to do justice to the depth of their relationship. Hopefully that comes across.

“We’re on the side of the road, just outside Insomnia,” Noctis said. 

Noctis guided Ignis’ fingers over a glossy surface. It was smooth until his fingers reached the edge of the photograph. Noctis took care to lift the pads of Ignis’ fingers up, leading them across the rougher paper surface of the page. 

Ignis fought to keep himself from shivering. Instead, he settled for skimming his fingers over the entire surface, gauging the size of the photograph.

“Careful, Specs. I wouldn’t want you to get a paper cut!”

Noctis burst out laughing at his own joke. At first it was a sarcastic and hoarse cough, but genuine mirth soon emerged, reminding Ignis of a more carefree time. Noctis’ laugh had deepened, either due to age or lack of use, to a rich timbre. 

Ignis was charmed, and had to stop himself from saying as such. 

“Your laugh has only improved with age, your majesty.”

He kept his voice dry, imbuing it with what he hoped was the right amount of sarcasm.

“You’re laughing too, Iggy,” Noctis said.

Whatever response Ignis had expected — a fall back into old patterns, or had he expected a response at all in this liminal space that he and Noctis were sharing? — it wasn’t that. He hadn’t realized that he was laughing alongside Noctis at all but could now hear a sharp staccato that could only be coming from him. 

“I do believe that I recall this photograph,” Ignis said. “It’s the one where Prompto stopped to take a picture of your truly Titanic efforts to push the Regalia to Hammerhead.”

Noctis squeezed Ignis’ hand before guiding it back to the page. 

“That picture is around somewhere,” Noctis said. 

Ignis could feel his shoulders move in a slight shrug. 

“But this one is of you. You’re humming along with the radio while we’re pushing the car. It’s—“

Noctis’ voice faltered a bit, losing its more commanding edge that had presumably crept in over the past ten years as Noctis had accepted his fate.

“‘Stand By Me,’” Ignis murmured. 

Insomnia had myriad versions of “Stand By Me,” although the original had been recorded well before either Ignis or Noctis had been born. Covers of the song were, to Ignis’ dismay growing up, nearly required of any up-and-coming musician in the city. As he had considered himself a patron of the arts, Ignis had heard many renditions of the song, most of which he would have liked to forget. His majesty Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII had inducted the original recording into Lucis’ national registry sometime when Ignis was a teenager, declaring it a cultural treasure of not only the city, but the entire country.

“I’m sure you remember this,” Noctis continued, as if he was reading Ignis’ own mind. “But my father made it a point to say that this song specifically was, ‘Integral to the cultural fabric of the city of Insomnia.’”

Ignis’ heart leapt at the fondness in Noctis’ voice as it deepened further in mimicry.

***

“It’s a gift from your father that we don’t know anything about!”

“It’s a car, Prompto, what is there to know? You just drive it.”

Ignis massaged his temple with a gloved hand. He felt a headache coming on. 

“It’s not just a car, your highness, and yes, Prompto it’s a gift but I assure you that I know how to fix it if we can reach a fueling station and acquire some tools.”

If Ignis’ voice was a bit overly prim, he couldn’t possibly be blamed for it.

“By all means, Iggy,” Noctis said sarcastically. He took one hand off of the side of the car and gestured outwardly at the desert. “Lead the way.”

“Yeah how come you get to sit in the car while we do all the work?”

“Both of you, shut up and push!”

With this command from Gladio, Noctis and Prompto fell mercifully silent. Ignis massaged his temple again, shooting Gladio a grateful look before reaching towards the radio dial. 

_“When the night has come._

__

__

_And the land is dark._

_And the moon is the only light we’ll see”_

Before he knew it, Ignis was humming along with the song. 

“Hey I know this song!”

Ignis bit his tongue to avoid telling Prompto that he should certainly know “this song” as it had recently, as of a little over a year ago, been declared a national treasure. He assumed this was one of those times where someone was saying something simply to start a discussion. 

Yet, rather than spurring on a conversation, the group fell silent. They pushed the car forward slowly as Ignis continued to hum. 

***

Ignis was pulled from his reverie with a rich baritone. 

_“No I won’t be afraid, no I won’t be afraid_

__

__

_Just as long as you stand, stand by me”_

Noctis.

“You can sing?”

The words left Ignis’ lips before he could hold them back.

“Trapped in a crystal for ten years, well, you get a lot of practice for a lot of things,” Noctis said. 

Ignis couldn’t possibly argue with that.

“I always thought—“ Noctis paused. 

Ignis imagined that he was staring off into the distance or perhaps into the dying campfire. It was a small movement, but he squeezed Noctis’ hand briefly as a request to continue. Noctis squeezed back. 

“I always thought that somehow my dad requested that song,” Noctis said. He cleared his throat with a slight hum before continuing. 

“For that trip. I know now that he knew, well, so many things I guess. But I think that maybe it was a message for me. That I wasn’t alone.”

“Noct,” Ignis said carefully. “You’ve never been alone.”

“I know that now, Iggy. I know now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That feel when Ignis thinks that Noctis is just reminiscing with a photo album but he slowly finds out that all of the pictures Noctis has are of him. ^ ^
> 
> I used "Titanic" instead of "Herculean" for obvious reasons.


	3. Lestallum — Rose of May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his return, Noctis guides Ignis through Prompto's photo album, photograph by photograph, reminiscing about their time together.
> 
> A few liberties are taken with canon (specific dialogue is changed a bit) but for the most part it follows all of the major plot points of Final Fantasy XV and assorted material, so spoilers for the entirety of the game.
> 
> Rated M for later chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where I take certain liberties with the Final Fantasy IX timeline. ^ ^;

“Ah, this is a good one,” Noctis said. 

It was a smaller photograph in surface area. Ignis felt around the top right corner, running his hands over a slight bump in the page.

“Did you, by chance, accidentally bend or drop this one?” Ignis asked.

Noctis responded with one of his low-pitched hums that had served as approximately a third of the entirety of his responses this evening.

“Remember when I used to sit up on the edge of the backseat?” Noctis asked. “You would always get so mad at me as if I was going to fall out of the car or something.”

Ignis let out what he hoped sounded like the long-suffering sigh of Noctis’ put-upon chamberlain. 

“You could have been injured, your highn— majesty.”

Noctis chuckled at the Ignis’ self-correction. 

“Even while joking, call me Noct,” he said. “Please. Just for tonight.”

Ignis found himself wishing, once again, that he could see Noctis’ face. Thanks to visions of Noctis giving his life for the dawn, he knew what Noctis looked like — shaggy bangs that feathered across his forehead, facial hair, and blue eyes that, while exhausted, held a hint of Noctis’ warmth. 

He hadn’t remembered how much he had relied on Noctis’ facial expressions. Ignis had memorized them and catalogued them in his mind. At first it had been in service of discovering the best way to respond to the young prince’s whims. After significant trial and error, Ignis had generally come up with a good system of precise replies over the years based on a simple twitch of Noctis’ face or the look of his eyes. 

By the time the system was perfected, Ignis hadn’t needed it at all. He was bound to Noctis by far more than his job title. 

“This was taken in Lestallum,” Noctis said, moving Ignis’ hand back over the dog-eared corner of the square photograph. “It was when I was having those headaches, from Titan. I was trying to get some fresh air by sitting up and you—“

***

“Noct, sit down!”

He hadn’t meant to sound angry. He also hadn’t meant to let Noctis’ nickname slip through.

Ignis hadn’t slept well the night prior. Noctis had thrashed in a fitful sleep of headaches and nightmares while Ignis, seated on the floor next to the bed, poured over books on the Astrals. With every grimace that flashed across Noctis’ features, a small curse slipped through Ignis’ lips, unheard by his charge.

Ignis fought to keep his features firm, aided by his task at hand as the group’s main driver and an early morning can of Ebony to keep him alert.

“I was just trying to feel the cool air,” Noctis bit back. “My head is killing me.”

Beside him, Prompto quickly busied himself with his camera. Gladio turned the page of his latest trashy romance novel, supposedly borrowed from Iris. 

“You have felt the tremors. You will hurt yourself if you were to be thrown from the Regalia,” Ignis said. “Sit down, your highness.”

“Please,” he added as an afterthought. His tone was the same: commanding and authoritative.

It wasn’t a tone that Noctis would ignore, save his most despondent depressive episodes immediately post-injury, and again during his high school years.

Noctis sat down. 

They spent the rest of the trip back to Lestallum in silence, save for the tinkling of a piano soundtrack.

***

“You kept a picture of the two of us fighting?”

Ignis shook his head immediately after posing the question. A combination of the thrill of seeing Noctis again, exhaustion, and imbibing a bit too much alcohol was making his tongue quite loose. 

“Ah, no,” Noctis said. 

There was a slight note of hesitation coloring his voice, and something else that Ignis couldn’t quite place — embarrassment perhaps. 

“It’s after our fight. It’s, ah, I didn’t know it was being taken actually, or how Prom got it.”

Ignis heard a rustling sound near his arm and pictured Noctis running his hands through his hair sheepishly. He wished that he could see this expression on Noctis’ aged features rather than the one of anguish, burned into his mind by the prophecy. 

What had happened after their fight that day? 

Ignis swallowed quickly and, he hoped, imperceptibly. They had fought a lot on the road, perhaps more than they had reconciled and cherished each other. 

“Ah so anyway it was after and stuff,” Noctis said, slipping into his more boyish affectations of speech with which Ignis was intimately familiar. 

“At the Leville.”

***

“No offense Specs but I don’t think this is going to help.”

After delivering spiracorn horns to the Lestallum weapons dealer and a sack of fresh beans to one of the food stalls in the market, Ignis found himself with an arm underneath Noctis’, supporting his prince as they walked up the winding staircase of the Leville to their floor. 

Noctis protested, yet allowed himself to be led to bed. Ignis laid the cool washcloth over Noctis’ forehead and folded the covers over the prince neatly. Snapping his fingers, Ignis drew his phone from his pants pocket, placing it on the small endtable next to the bed. 

Removing his jacket and folding it carefully over the chairback, Ignis shrugged out of his suspenders, leaving them to hang at his sides, 

Noctis’ eyes followed Ignis, smiling in spite of his annoyance and pain. This was the Ignis that Noctis liked best — the one who didn’t wear the job like a suit of armor. Noctis could pretend, for a moment, that Ignis hadn’t been forced to stay at his side. 

Leaning forward, Ignis pressed the screen of his phone. A soft piano melody began, slow, yet structured and leading. 

“There once was a knight named Beatrix,” Ignis began. He sat down on the tiled floor at Noctis’ side, leaning his back against the side of the bed. Had Noctis reached out, he could have run his fingers through Ignis’ hair.

Instead, Ignis’ charge rolled his eyes. Ignis’ lips quirked up slightly almost as if he’d heard Noctis say, “Are we really doing this?” aloud.

“There once was a knight named Beatrix,” Ignis repeated. 

The piano melody grew louder, having reached a pre-chorus of sorts, if Noctis was remembering his music theory lessons correctly, which could hardly be guaranteed, especially in his current state. 

Noctis closed his eyes.

“She thought she had reached the height of her career,” Ignis said softly. 

“She was the top-ranked general of the Alexandrian army, sworn to protect her kingdom, particularly the royal family, at all costs with her blade, Save the Queen. Small in stature, Beatrix cut a formidable figure with her blade at her side and an eyepatch to cover a deep facial wound suffered in battle. Nonetheless, she was the best duelist in the land. No one in Alexandria was a better knight than Beatrix, not even her sworn rival, Adelbert Steiner, Captain of the Knights of Pluto.”

Another tremor. Ignis reached up behind him automatically to catch Noctis’ hand, squeezing it. When it subsided, Ignis loosened his grip, but kept his hand stretched up awkwardly, touching Noctis’ fingertips. 

“Beatrix earned a reputation for being merciless, but her soldiers found her impossibly kind and forgiving. Yet her kingdom was crumbling around her. Her queen’s mind had been poisoned, and she passed, with Beatrix unable to help her. Beatrix swore that she would protect her princess instead. In doing so, she stumbled into Captain Steiner, who had written her a love letter.”

Noctis stirred.

“Why would he do that?” 

His voice slurred with sleep. 

“You see,” Ignis said, his voice impossibly fond, drawing from a wellspring of nights comforting his liege through childhood. “It was a mistake. The letter was meant for someone else, yet together, they uncovered what was rotten in their kingdom and fell in love. When Alexandria was attacked, they stood back to back in the square of the capital city, swearing to protect their people while cementing their devotion to each other.”

Ignis looked up to see Noctis’ eyes fluttering under closed eyelids, his long lashes brushing his cheek. 

And if Ignis’ hand too lingered on the prince’s cheek for half a second, feeling the soft breath from his mouth, well, Ignis would reprimand himself at a later date.

***

Ignis felt his face grow flushed as Noctis’ voice washed over him, retelling Beatrix’s story sans the light touch by which Ignis remembered that particular evening.

“Does it hurt?” Noctis asked after a pause.

“My scars?”

Noctis nodded with a small sound of affirmation so Ignis could hear him. 

“Not really.”

Noctis hummed. It wasn’t a pleased sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've outlined the entirety of this story, but it's definitely going to be a slow burn, breaking down the barriers that Noctis and Ignis have put up over the years, as well as dealing with his return and the prophecy of the chosen king. There's a lot to unpack to their relationship, and hopefully that's coming across. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	4. Interlude I — Prompto Argentum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his return, Noctis guides Ignis through Prompto's photo album, photograph by photograph, reminiscing about their time together. Not necessarily in chronological order.
> 
> A few liberties are taken with canon (specific dialogue is changed a bit) but for the most part it follows all of the major plot points of Final Fantasy XV and assorted material, so spoilers for the entirety of the game.
> 
> Rated M for later chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occasionally there will be interludes like this to flesh out other characters' perspectives or take a step back from going through the album photograph by photograph.

“That was some speech your majesty,” 

Prompto approached Noctis with equal parts apprehension, awe, and love. 

“What can I say,” Noctis replied with a smaller, surprisingly elegant bow. “I live to serve my people.”

Prompto winced internally at the sarcasm and disgust in those words. 

“Noct…”

“Ah Prom, it’s alright,” Noctis said. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it and it’s really going to be okay, I promise.”

Prompto felt Noctis’ hand on his head, ruffling his hair like he used to when they would lounge on the couch in Noct’s apartment, playing King’s Knight while gorging themselves on junk food. 

Touch and emotions had always come easy to Prompto. When he stopped to think about it, he liked to take a bit of credit for how Noctis had opened up a bit more, especially on their original road trip. He didn’t have the training or pedigree of Ignis or Gladio, and that still weighed on him, even after the long years in Noct’s absence, but he was alright at reading the atmosphere, better than he had been years ago. His photography had only helped honed this skill. 

Which was the reason why he had taken Noct aside now. Prompto squeezed the leather-bound book in his right hand tightly. 

“So uh, I don’t know the best way to say this.” Prompto raised his left hand and scratched it roughly through his bangs. “But I made something for you. Or rather, I guess I just kept it for you, until you came back.”

Noctis nodded, unsure of where Prompto was going until Prompto presented him with the photo album, pressing it into his hands. 

“It’s a photo album.”

“Obviously.”

Prompto rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, sorry, that’s obvious but uh, what’s not is what’s inside.”

Noctis gave him a look, one that despite the crow’s feet and stubble, melted away his haggard appearance, reminding Prompto of his childhood best friend. 

“What’s inside?” Noctis asked. 

“These years have been rough, Noct,” he said. “Real rough. Iggy took it, well, the worst of all of us, I’d say.”

Noctis nodded and waited for Prompto to elaborate, shifting the photo album through the air as if to say, “Get on with it.”

“Iggy loves you!” 

Prompto blurted this out rapidly, and quickly covered his mouth with both of his hands, eyes wide. He hadn’t expected to say it so bluntly but he consoled himself with the fact that all of them had very little to lose anyway. 

“I know,” Noctis said.

“I know it’s hard to believe but it’s all in that photo album. Once I saw one photograph I just couldn’t stop seeing it and you’ll— wait what?”

As his brain caught up with the words tripping from his mouth, Prompto closed his eyes and blinked slowly. 

“You know? You knew?” 

Noctis sighed. 

“Prom, I’ve loved Ignis since I could remember,” Noctis said. He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, an old nervous habit. “But he was my adviser and he didn’t really seem interested. And then I was getting married to Luna. And I loved her too, in a way. And then all of the other stuff happened—“

He waved his arms in front of him a bit wildly.

“And then I was gone and I’ve had a lot of time to think, Prom, a lot of time.”

Prompto stared at him. Noctis stared back. 

After a few moments of silence, both young men burst out laughing. 

“Ahhhhh what a waste of time the two of you,” Prompto finally said, wiping laughter-induced tears from his eyes. Noctis looked back at him, also wiping his face. His eyes were heavy and he looked tired. Their laughter faded into the starless night. 

“I don’t want to waste any more time, Prom.” Noctis’ voice was rough from emotion and disuse. It cracked.

Prompto walked forward and slid an arm around Noctis’ shoulders. 

“Open it. I originally started taking these as kind of a joke, you know? Maybe to get one of you to confess since you kept mooning over each other.”

Noctis raised his eyebrows and hummed at Prompto, but opened the book anyway. 

“And then, I dunno. It became kind of a record. You were gone and even though Ignis couldn't see it, I just—“

Prompto interrupted himself with a heavy sigh. 

“Photos are supposed to capture the good things right? At least, that’s what they are to me. You’re my best friend and Iggy well, I thought he hated me at first but anyway, I always would see the way he looked at you sometimes and be like, ‘Wow, I wish I could find someone to look at me like that.’”

“Haven’t you already?” Noctis gestured towards the tent where loud snores could be heard.

“Yeah but I didn’t know that at the time,” Prompto scoffed, elbowing Noct in his side. 

Noctis laughed and then looked down at the first photograph. Ignis, not one hair out of place, was seated in the driver’s seat of the Regalia. He was looking down at Noctis, pushing the car on the driver’s side. Running his fingers over the photograph, Noctis couldn’t see his own face, but Ignis’ expression had lost some of its sternness in that moment. His adviser wore an expression that Noctis could only describe as soft. Underneath, in what looked like permanent marker, Prompto had written in his neatest handwriting, “Just outside of Insomnia — Stand By Me.”

“Oh, Prom I—“

Prompto replied by giving Noct’s shoulders another squeeze. 

“What are you going to do now?” Prompto asked. 

“Now, I think the two of us should talk,” Noctis said. “Ignis and I. Don’t you think so, Prom? I’ll put this to good use.” 

He stood up, tucking the album under his arm. Noctis winked at his friend, and turned sharply to walk back across the haven to where Ignis was seated at the fire. 

“Wait!” 

Prompto’s arm shot out and latched on to Noct’s forearm. 

“Let me talk to him first.”

“One of the last things you’re going to do for me is be my wingman so I can confess my undying love to Specs?” Noctis' voice quavered, undercutting his attempted sarcasm.

Tears welled up in Prompto’s eyes, unshed. It was the first time he’d heard Noctis talk about his presumed death so casually. 

“Well if you hadn’t been such a lunkhead in high school I would have helped you out then.”

Prompto punctuated the insult with a light punch to Noct's side.

Noct’s eyes were similarly wet as he turned to Prompto and held out his arms. The two hugged each other tightly. 

“Thanks for everything, Prom. You really are the best.”

Prompto nodded, patting Noct on the shoulder. If it was a bit rough, Noctis didn’t complain. 

“I’ll see what Iggy’s up to for you.”

Prompto approached Ignis with caution. He was certain that Ignis could hear him coming — Ignis’ senses had only improved to heights that seemed inhuman following his blindness, which seemed a bit unfair to Prompto during Prompto’s pettier trains of thought, given how perfect Ignis was — until he heard Ignis mutter “My everything” into the fire. 

Running his hand through his bangs again briefly in frustration, Prompto stepped forward, grabbing one of the camping chairs that had been folded neatly behind Ignis. 

“Are you going to tell him that or what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the tone felt a bit different. The majority of this fic is from Ignis' perspective, but for shifts like this one from Prompto's point of view, the text hopefully reflects the more casual nature of Noctis' and Prompto's friendship without sacrificing its depth. 
> 
> Also for those who thought I was kidding that it's an entire album of Ignis looking at Noctis lovingly, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	5. Galdin Quay — Ami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his return, Noctis guides Ignis through Prompto's photo album, photograph by photograph, reminiscing about their time together. Not necessarily in chronological order. 
> 
> A few liberties are taken with canon (specific dialogue is changed a bit) but for the most part it follows all of the major plot points of Final Fantasy XV and assorted material, so spoilers for the entirety of the game.
> 
> Rated M for later chapters.

Ignis frowned.“You are not going in chronological order.”

It was less of a question and more of a statement. Years upon years of caring for Noctis automatically gave Ignis’ voice a chiding tone. 

Noctis paused, his hand still lightly placed over Ignis’ with the intent guiding it over each page and photograph. 

Ignis could only imagine Noctis’ face — a furrowed brow, the slightest wrinkle at the bridge of his nose denoting confusion.

Then a laugh. It wasn’t the harsh, rough sound Ignis had heard initially. In fact, Ignis thought, the more Noctis spoke, the more he sounded like Noctis. Past Noctis. Young Noctis.

His Noctis. 

“Really Iggy, does it matter?” 

Did it matter?

This entire conversation was already uncharted territory, an odd, undiscovered country found in a liminal space before his prince’s — his king’s, his king’s he again interrupted his own thoughts to find the correct title — certain death. Ignis found himself struggling, grasping at any semblance of order, some sort of foothold, a way to organize his thoughts so he could say the correct thing in light of Noctis’ newfound straightforwardness. Falling into old, familiar patterns should be best, although another part of Ignis balked at returning to the past. It was an impossible task anyway and here was Noctis, reaching out in a way that made Ignis feel wholly unprepared. 

And wholly thrilled. 

Did it matter? 

“You’re actually thinking about it! I—“

Noctis’ exclamation and a deep laugh cut through Ignis’ thoughts. It was punctuated by a light slapping noise and Ignis knew that Noctis had facepalmed. He imagined a cheeky grin on Noctis’ face. 

Despite the future that seemed to stretch endlessly beyond Ignis whenever he paused to think about it — or couldn’t quite banish thoughts of Noctis’ fate from his mind — Ignis found himself joining in. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes and he quickly drew a handkerchief from his pocket only to find it tugged out from between his fingers. Ignis looked in Noctis’ direction in confusion. 

“Let me?”

There was something in Noctis’ voice that made Ignis tremble. It wasn’t an order from a king. Instead, it was hesitant and warm. Ignis could feel Noctis’ left hand, hovering in mid-air with the handkerchief connecting the two, brushing against his fingertips. His king’s right hand was still placed above his own, over another one of Prompto’s photographs. 

He could hear Noctis breathing, slow puffs of air that somehow had no discernible pattern — uneven breaths that Ignis recognized from myriad times that Noctis was nervous about something, a school project, presenting in front of the council, on his worst days even stepping outside his apartment caused the young prince impossible anxiety. 

Ignis closed his eyelids, a habit of which he was loathe to let go. It made him still feel human. 

Noctis shifted.

“Ah, it’s okay if you don’t—“

“No!”

At Ignis’ yell, Noctis stalled with the handkerchief still in hand. Ignis had forgotten that Noctis was waiting for his consent. 

“It’s fine,” Ignis said after another pause. “By all means, your ma— Noct.”

Ignis felt a small breeze as Noctis breathed out in a long sigh. Then the handkerchief dabbed gently at the corners of his eyes and Ignis found himself tearing up again for a wholly different reason. 

“You remember the cat? At Galdin Quay?”

It took a moment for Ignis’ mind to catch up with Noctis’ words. 

“The cat,” Ignis echoed. “Of course Prompto would include a picture of that cat.”

“You complained that I was putting so much effort into making food for a cat,” Noctis said, his voice mischievous. Ignis closed his eyes again and he could almost picture the rare smile on Noctis’ face. 

“You said I was wasting Coctura’s time,” Noctis continued, his fingers guiding Ignis’ hand over the smooth sheen of the photograph. “I think you were just jealous that I didn’t ask you for your fish recipe.”

Ignis sputtered involuntarily.

“Your highness! I was no such thing!”

His face colored. Ignis suddenly felt too warm in a way that had nothing to do with the wine, the fire, or even being in such close proximity to Noctis. 

“Wow Iggy.” Noctis said flatly. “Your reaction sure is convincing.”

It was a familiar sarcastic drawl that had characterized Noctis’ speech particularly in his teenaged years into early adulthood. Ignis felt oddly comforted by it, and found himself smiling broadly despite his embarrassment. 

“I was just joking,” Noctis said. “But now I’m convinced! You were jealous that I didn’t ask you to cook food for a cat.”

“My reputation is ruined now, I see,” Ignis said, playing purposefully into Noctis’ banter. “Undone by our intrepid photographer’s insistence on chronicling your cat obsession.”

Noctis hummed. 

“The photo is actually of us on the docks,” Noctis said. “Gladio was off training somewhere. I thought he was training with Prompto actually. Neither of them had the patience to wait with me.”

Ignis felt Noctis shift his fingers on either side of Ignis’ hand, a small tap onto the paper. 

He wondered why Noctis sounded so sheepish. 

“It was nice, Iggy. You helped me measure and weigh every fish.”


	6. Citadel Insomnia — Salut d'Amour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his return, Noctis guides Ignis through Prompto's photo album, photograph by photograph, reminiscing about their time together. Not necessarily in chronological order.
> 
> A few liberties are taken with canon (specific dialogue is changed a bit) but for the most part it follows all of the major plot points of Final Fantasy XV and assorted material, so spoilers for the entirety of the game.
> 
> Rated M for later chapters.

“Hold onto the book Iggy.”

Ignis felt Noctis’ fingers slip from his and the smooth page of the book suddenly seemed much cooler. He heard a loud, low grunt and then a bit of a sniff as Noctis shifted beside him. 

“Noctis, are you alright?”

Concern lined Ignis’ question, the edges of his voice frantic with a slight raise in pitch. 

Noctis hummed agreeably. 

“Just stretching a bit. My knee y’know.”

Ignis did know. 

Noctis’ footsteps on the packed dirt and rock were quiet, yet Ignis could hear them fade as Noctis walked further away. 

“I’m just getting a drink, Iggy.”

As Noctis said this, Ignis could hear the sound of liquid pouring into a glass. He reached down beside Gladio’s worn canvas camping chair and discovered that his wine glass was missing. 

The soft crunch of Noctis’ footsteps grew louder and Ignis found the glass hesitantly pressed into his hand. It was cool on his exposed fingertips.

“I thought we could share a bottle.”

“But you hate wine, your— Noct. It’s made of fruit after all, one step away from vegetables.”

“I don’t hate it,” Noctis said with another sniff. “I used to hate it and now I don’t.”

Ignis smiled at the petulant tone.

“Did time in the crystal give his highness a sommelier’s nose and tongue as well as a singing voice?”

Noctis snorted.

“Drink your wine, Specs. You were probably the one who picked out this bottle in the first place.”

Noctis said this casually, but Ignis froze. 

“Picked isn’t the operative word here,” Ignis said, thinking of the years of darkness. “Hoarded would be more accurate.”

The words slipped through Ignis’ lips without thought. It was an immediate and honest reaction, a rarity for Ignis. Usually such a genuine emotional response from Ignis was only prompted by the threat of bodily harm to Noctis. 

Noctis inhaled sharply.

“M’sorry Iggy. I didn’t think.”

Like Noctis’ knee injury, this particular tone, a soft mumble, was one with which Ignis was intimately familiar. It immediately pulled him to a time where teenaged Noctis desperately curled in on himself in an attempt to stave off or control his depression, “M’sorry Iggy, so sorry” ringing in Ignis’ ears with visions of tear-streaked round cheeks beneath his eyelids. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Noctis.” 

Ignis’ voice cut through the night. He wondered what his face looked like — probably harsh angles alongside his ever-present scar — and imagined a remorseful expression on Noctis’ face that his fingers itched to wipe away. Instead, his left hand curled, bare fingers touching the leather palms of his fingerless gloves. His right rolled the wineglass stem between his thumb and index finger. 

Humming again, agreeably as if to erase the past few moments, Noctis shuffled closer to Ignis’ side and touched the bowl of his wineglass with Ignis’. Ignis shivered at the small shock it sent into his fingers. They were almost tingling. 

“To Eos,” Noctis said with a slightly bitter intonation. 

“Noct…”

Ignis raised his glass but didn’t say anything. Myriad words of comfort, anger, defiance, and countless other emotions rose in his throat.

After another pause, he heard Noctis take a large sip of wine and immediately begin coughing. Ignis smiled. 

“Ah, Specs! I don’t know how you love this stuff,” Noctis said in between coughs. 

“I suppose your tongue didn’t mature along with the rest of you while you were away,” Ignis said dryly.  
He couldn’t resist teasing, and the exchange returned his equilibrium for the time being. He was Ignis. Noctis was Noctis. And while Ignis was struggling with the weight of his own love, and the weight of what Noctis would have to do in the coming days, that didn’t change this moment or who they were. 

“You have a nice smile, Iggy.”

The compliment destabilized Ignis once more, but this time with a warm, almost lazy feeling. He felt his cheeks flush and in lieu of a reply, choked down almost the entire glass of wine. 

In the pause that followed, Ignis could almost see Noctis’ eyebrows raise. He felt the glass being tugged from his fingers by Noctis and heard the splashing of the glass being refilled. Yet Noctis didn’t return it to his hands, and instead placed a hand over Ignis’.

“I put your glass on the ground next to mine,” Noctis said. 

“Take care,” Ignis advised. “I wouldn’t want your bad knee to end up in a glass of wine on my account.”

“I’ll be careful, Iggy.”

To Ignis’ ears, Noctis suddenly wasn’t talking about wine. The dry, choking feeling returned and Ignis opened his mouth again to say something, but Noctis was quicker. 

“Anyway, I don’t know how Prom got this one either because I don’t think he could have taken it himself, but I really like it. Someone must have given it to him.”

Noctis’ fingers were back over Ignis’ now, guiding them across the page. 

“You’re at the piano. I think you were 16-ish. Probably hiding from me because I was an insufferable brat.”

The small laugh that punctuated the end of Noctis’ sentence tore through Ignis. He laughed aloud but it was a choking sound like a sob. 

Noctis squeezed his hand. 

“I don’t know who took it, but I’m glad they did,” Noctis said. 

Ignis nodded. 

***

“That’s a beautiful piece, son.”

Ignis blanched. His fingers stopped moving over the piano keys. They hovered, static, as the his last few notes faded into the dusty air.

“Please, don’t stop on my account.”

Regis Lucis Caelum was not someone who put Ignis at ease, although Ignis could recognize that the king desperately wanted to be seen as a calming presence. The king was of too high a station and Ignis duty-bound to his only son. 

Ignis stood up from the piano bench and bowed stiffly. 

"Your majesty."

The king sighed, and walked slowly over to Ignis. 

“‘Hello to love.’ It’s a beautiful piece,” the king said. 

Ignis nodded. The king sighed again, more resigned this time, before straightening his posture. His cane made him even more formidable to Ignis, not less. 

“Above all else, Ignis Scientia, I hope you will give my son love.”

This was not what Ignis was expecting to hear. It was a testament to his training that he didn’t visibly flinch, but remained ramrod straight, shoulders back. The only outward sign that Ignis had been affected at all was a slight flush on his face. 

“The prince is my first priority always, your majesty,” Ignis replied, squaring his shoulders. He was unsure of what else to say. 

The king laughed. It was a sad chuckle and Ignis wondered if he had said the wrong thing.

“That should never change,” the king said, reaching out to touch Ignis’ shoulder. “Your priority is Noctis always, not to the crown, or to Lucis, or even to me.”

Ignis frowned. After a few moments, he gave up searching for an answer and spoke. 

“I don’t understand, your majesty.” 

The king nodded. He brushed a speck of dust that had fallen from the large velvet curtains in the music hall off of Ignis’ shoulder. 

“You will, Ignis.”

***

“Did you know?” Noctis asked after Ignis had finished his story and a lengthy pause. 

Ignis turned Noctis’ question over and over in his mind, searching for an accusation or anger. Even through the filter of his overwhelming guilt, he heard neither of these things in Noctis’ voice. He could pretend that he didn’t know what Noctis was asking, but he had always found lying to Noctis difficult, sneaking vegetables into his food aside. 

At the end of all things it was, in fact, a simple question. And unlike a multitude of other simple — albeit open-ended unlike this one — questions, it had a simple answer. 

“I . . . had my suspicions,” Ignis finally said. “But I didn’t know for certain until I put on the Ring of the Lucii.” 

Noctis hummed. He pressed the wineglass into Ignis' hand once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regis is such a sad character to me. He knows what is coming yet also knows he can't do much to thwart it, so he tries to give his son the best life possible.


End file.
